Anywhere but Here
by xoxothesubwayfugitive
Summary: AU; The Death Eaters win, and Lucius and Hermione survive together. A complicated look at a complicated situation.
1. The Escape

"How long can we stay here?"

"As long as have food to eat and each other to hold, I suppose."

He shifted in the little camp bed, wrapping his arm around her waist. Outside the wind howled, and the walls of the tent pulsated.

"But what happens when we don't?" she whispered.

"Have any food left?"

"No. Have each other."

He didn't respond and she didn't say anything more, and after a long while he felt her grow heavier in his arms as she drifted to sleep. He stared up at the pitched roof, his brow furrowed. Her bones were sharp against him, and the fear that always lurked in his brain was growing.

* * *

He couldn't have told you how long they had been hiding, but he might have guessed that it had been 4 months or so. There was a time, at the beginning, when they had tried to keep track of the days like they had before, but it had become far too stressful, just one more task upon their already burdened shoulders. Now all that mattered was the sun and when it rose and when it set and how long they could continue to live. They would eat, sometimes, very early in the morning and then decide if they should move on or not. It would have been easier if they knew where they were going, but there wasn't really anywhere to go. Everywhere was treacherous territory and there was an enemy around every tree in the forest and every bend in the road. Each day was an anywhere but here day; no campsite was _really_ better than any other. There wasn't very much food, not ever, and they would liked to have said that love sustained them but it couldn't, they needed more than that. Their skin began to grow taught across their bones, and it hurt them to look into each other's eyes and see the growing emptiness within.

* * *

The light of the small fire they had built in the clearing flickered across her hollow face, and he remembered the beginning of all this. The last battle had gotten desperately out of hand, the bodies of Death Eaters mixed in with those of the Order members, blood flowing biblically through the corridors. Then the sound of an explosion rang out through the castle, and fire began roar through each room and every hall. Screams echoed in the ears of those about to die, and almost everyone simply gave up hope. All except for the two figures darting across the lawn and into the woods, the heat of the flames pushing them to run faster than they knew possible. One was farther ahead of the other, a man with a ripped cloak trailing behind him. The other was smaller but seemingly more determined, clenching something in her hand and not stopping even when her foot caught in the grass and she tumbled down. Neither so much as dared to glance back at the hell they were leaving behind. Their paths didn't cross until they were well into the forest, each arriving at the same clearing independently, neither seeing the other right away. When they finally took notice of each other, they couldn't bring themselves to be as standoffish as they would have liked, regarding each other with trepidation but not malevolence.

"I don't have a wand," he finally announced with a sigh.

"Neither do I," she admitted, almost wanting to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. "I want to hate you right now," she continued, "but I think I'm too tired, and too sad to hate anymore."

He didn't respond, but instead stared up above her head, apparently horror struck. She noticed a green glow on his face mixed with the orange she had almost grown accustomed to, and turned slowly to see what he saw.

It was the Dark Mark, floating huge and high above the wreckage of the castle, tinting everything below it a sickly green. He grabbed her hand, and she whipped around to face him, tugging against his grip.

"Do you trust me?" he asked, fear glinting in his eyes behind the reflection of the Mark. She opened her mouth to say no but stopped halfway through the word. There was no going back now anyway; she might as well run with someone else. She swallowed the pain and fear and tried to forget their past and nodded, trusting that the sadness in his tone was genuine.

So he pulled her into the night with him, praying that they would not leave a trace behind.

* * *

"Would you do it?" she questioned, holding his hand tightly in hers. "Would you kill me if I asked you to?"

They were standing on the banks of a perfectly clear forest stream, regarding it with resignation. Neither of them had quite grown used to the feeling of ice cold water on their bodies, despite the many times they had experienced it in the past months, but they had gone too long without bathing and this was a good as it was going to get.

"No," he said, sighing heavily and beginning to strip off his shirt. "I absolutely would not."

"Even if I wanted to die?" she pleaded, watching him remove his socks and neatly fold them up on the leaves.

"Even then."

* * *

Everything they had came from Hermione's little beaded bag, and that wasn't much, as it had spilled about half of her supplies out when she tripped fleeing the castle. She lost the big tent and most of the books and the essence of dittany bottle along with many of Ron and Harry's things. But that was probably better, as she didn't need reminders of her lost heroes haunting her every day. The memory of their faces at the very last was too much on its own. They slept in a smaller backup tent Hermione had brought, one with just a small cot and a stiff armchair inside. They had a few plates, a gas stove, a lamp, and some clothing left as well. Hermione would wear Harry's winter clothes to stay warm, and Lucius tried to squeeze into some of Ron's old jumpers, although they were built for a teenager. There were two books left, her old abused copy of Hogwarts, A History, and her sixth year Charms books, both of which were now completely useless. As for food, they would eat almost anything they could find, which was mainly mushrooms and fish, although sometimes they would dare to sneak up to henhouse and snatch a few eggs, running away at breakneck speed. They could never be sure if the people in the farmhouse were friend or foe.

* * *

There were times when they thought of joining Muggle society, entering a town as a couple from a faraway place and making a go of it. But they didn't have any money to get started with, and they suspected that the Muggle and Wizarding worlds were no longer as distant from each other as they had once been. The towns they occasionally dared to get close too often had a strange, lingering sadness poisoning the air, and although they were not sure why, they both felt it unwise to get any nearer. Sometimes she would beg him to go back to their world alone.

"You would be safe," she would say, "You could claim amnesia, and that you had been wandering and unaware of whom you were this whole time." But no was always his answer, even though it pained him to say it. He couldn't forget the sight of the bodies of his wife and son lying at his then Master's feet. He could never forgive that.

* * *

Their relationship had been platonic for a long time. They would walk in near silence all day, staying near to each other but never touching, and when they got to a stopping place he would set up the tent and build the fire and she would try to hunt down a meal. Survival was all either cared about, and neither was even really sure why they had bonded together to make this journey. Over time they began to talk, but usually just about books they had once read or places they had been. They never mentioned those they had left behind. They might as well have been the only two people to have ever lived; it hurt too much to remember that they weren't. She would sleep on the cot and he on the floor, and as they fell asleep they tried to pretend that they weren't listening to the other breathe.

* * *

"What will they do if they find us?"

"Nothing good. It would probably be worse than death, if I had to guess."

"I'm hungry."

"No kidding."

"I think we're going to have to try to stop in a town. Maybe if we go in at night we can scrounge something up."

"It'd be dangerous. Really dangerous."

"We're going to die either way then."

"Fine. We'll give the next one we see a shot." He still felt uneasy promising it, but he knew deep down that she was right. Either they would starve or they would be murdered, and he couldn't be sure which was worse. It had been three or four months since they started, and soon it would be winter, and then what?

"Do you think they're looking for us?" she asked, sitting down under a tree to have a sip of water from the bottle they had filled up earlier that day.

"I think they think we're dead."

"That's probably a good thing."

"Probably."

* * *

Later that day they crested a hill in the dim twilight, and what they saw before them was staggering. A little hamlet in a valley, perfect and quaint, except for the fact that nearly every building was on fire. No people were running out of the homes, and no one was trying to put down the flames. Above the church the Dark Mark reigned, casting the familiar green light over the town. They stood stock still at the sight, afraid to move or speak. After several minutes passed, they turned to one another, panic etched across their features. Then they both swiveled and began to run back into the woods, trying to put as much space between the terror and themselves as possible. Finally they fell into a little hollow at the bottom of a ridge, lying on the cushion of leaves and trying to catch their breath.

"Do you think they're still there?" Hermione finally dared to ask.

"No. I think they would have seen us if they had been."

"So they aren't hiding anymore."

"No, they certainly are not."

She rolled over and faced him, and there were tears in her eyes. He pulled her to him and let her sob into his chest.

Later they finally dared to leave their hiding place and set up the tent under the cover of the treetops, and since there was nothing to eat, they went straight to bed. He began to settle down onto the floor, but she reached out and stopped him. She took his hand and pulled him up and onto the cot with her.

"I'm tired of being alone," she said.


	2. Their House

Lucius was returning with full water bottles when he spotted her outside the tent, knees pulled up to her chest. It was very clear that she was upset, and he quickened his pace to meet her.

"Are you alright?" he asked, as soon as he got near enough.

"No."

"Are you sick?" he asked, praying that she wasn't.

"No. I'm pregnant." She said it in a matter of fact way, devoid of emotion. He crouched down next to her and buried his head in his hands, sighing deeply. She stared over his shoulder, looking at nothing.

"What do we do?" she finally asked, still not looking at him.

"Do? If we…if we _did_ something, I think that it would most likely do more harm than good. And I…I can't bear the thought of losing you if it could be avoided. So I guess we just wait. Maybe things will change by then," he said, trying to be cheerful and failing miserably.

"So you don't mind then?" she asked.

"Mind what?"

"That your child will be a half blood."

"I never said that."

* * *

The house wasn't in a clearing, oddly enough. It was built right under the trees, or maybe they had grown up around it. It was dilapidated and quite clearly abandoned, but they still regarded it with wary eyes.

"Wouldn't it make us a target, you know, to be in a house?"

"They're not looking for us."

"I know, but I can't help but think that they are."

"We have to go in. Look at you, you can't go like this for much longer."

He was right, she was really pregnant now, and each step got harder and harder as the days went on. She resented him pointing it out, but relented, and allowed him to lead her inside. They were very cautious as they explored, but all they found was dust and water stains and some old broken furniture. There was an old fashioned kitchen with a wood stove, a basin for a sink and a scarred wooden table, no chairs. Next to it was what they supposed might have been a sitting room, based on the faded floral wallpaper, but now it contained only a very dusty oriental rug. Upstairs were two bedrooms, one with a queen sized bed and a closet full of ragged linens and one with two twin beds and two child sized chairs around a little table. To finish it off was a funny little bathroom that wasn't more than a chamber pot and a big metal tub that once would have been filled with water from buckets. In a closet downstairs they found three pots and some other miscellaneous kitchen things, a sack of now rotten rice, and a box of cheap Muggle novels.

"I wonder who lived here," she whispered, as though someone might have heard.

"Whoever it was, they aren't coming back."

"When can we go pick out our china?" she asked with a girlish giggle that he had never heard before.

* * *

She cried out from the bedroom, and he ran up the stairs at breakneck speed, calling out to her.

"It's coming," she whispered, her eyes full of fear.

For hours and hours all he could do for her was sit in bed and hold her hand, whispering apologies into her hair. All he could think of was that all this was his fault, he had done this to her. "I'm sorry," he would say every time she tensed up and squeezed his hand. He suggested that she should get up and walk around, that maybe it would help, but she wouldn't budge from the dip in the mattress where the springs had long ago broken. He tried to remember what he knew about childbirth from before, but what he did was of little use without wands or a Healer to help. Finally, finally, she permitted him to help her stand up and move about a little, with him holding her up from behind. And at last it happened, with her crouching and bracing herself against the bed and him helping her as best he could. When it was over she collapsed back onto the frayed quilt, completely still except for her heavy breathing. For a few minutes she just savored the cool air on her sweaty face, and forgot about everything. But then she realized that he hadn't said anything either, and that the room was deathly quiet. She lifted her head and looked at him, but he had his back turned.

"Lucius?" she called out, panic mounting in her voice. "Lucius, why isn't it crying? What's happening? Tell me."

"I'm sorry," he said, and his voice sounded like it was coming from a far off place. He looked down at the bundle in his arms and then left the room, the darkness enveloping him. When he came back a few minutes later he was empty handed and blank faced. She was crying, and he didn't say anything, but did his best to clean her up and tuck her into bed. He stroked her hair for a long time until she fell asleep, tears still streaking her face.

The next morning she came downstairs to where he sat at the kitchen table on a makeshift stool he had pieced together from branches. He was staring into a cup of water as if his life depended on it, but looked up when she came into the room. She had changed her clothes and was wrapped in a blanket, and there were dark circles under her eyes.

"It's better this way, isn't it?" she asked.

"Yes," he responded, his voice strangled.

She nodded solemnly and turned to go back upstairs.

* * *

"I don't want to be here anymore."

"Oh, but how could you give up all this?" He gestured around the room where they were sitting with a funny smile on his face. They were leaning against the wall next to the fireplace, huddled under a shredded blanket. The room was otherwise empty.

"Don't joke." Hermione's face was drawn. "I'm serious. I can't be in this godforsaken house anymore. Everything here depresses me."

"It's just as depressing out there too, you know. Nothing about it will make you feel better."

"I can't fucking explain this to you, ok? I know you didn't want the baby, and I know that I shouldn't have, but I did and now it's gone and we're still here. It's wrong. Please take me away."

"But where will we go?"

"I don't care."

"Fine. I guess we can leave in the morning."

"Good." She stood up and took the blanket with her, wrapping it around her shoulders. "I'll go pack what there is."

* * *

The next morning she grabbed his hand as they stood on the ruin of a stoop.

"Let's go into a town," she said, searching his face with her hollow eyes. Her voice was crazed.

"No," he responded without even stopping to think.

"It'll be fine," she wheedled. "We'll blend in."

Lucius looked her up and down and wondered if she understood what she truly looked like. Dirty and skeletal, with all of her clothes torn to bits.

"I kind of doubt that."

"I'm going. I'll walk away right now, and you don't have to come." She did start to walk, dropping his hand and heading away from the house, back the way they had come so long ago.

"Hermione! Don't go, please, don't. It isn't safe. We need to be together."

"I don't need you," she replied, still walking, and he knew that she was right. Hermione was gone and all she needed now was the strength to walk to where her mind was taking her. But he had to keep trying; to him she was the same girl who had let herself be taken away. Lucius ran after her and snatched her wrist, twisting her around to face him.

"Do I have to just come right out and say it? I love you, Hermione, and I need you with me, not dead in a ditch somewhere."

She considered him, her face unfeeling but her body relaxing against his.

"I'll stay with you then, I guess. But you have to swear that we'll keep moving."

"I swear it," he said with a sigh of relief, dropping her arm.

"Ok," she replied. "By the way," she continued as she began to walk away. "I hope you don't believe that our love is eternal or something like that. Everlasting love is a lie; I know that and so should you. We watched all of our everlasting love burn up in green smoke."


	3. Their Ending

Lucius woke up the next morning to the acrid smell of smoke in the tent. He felt her absence on the cot immediately and was out of the tent before he was really properly dressed.

"Shit," he muttered. For there, not too far in the distance, his old familiar friend hung, just as menacing as always. And so he ran. He ran as fast as he could until he was out of the trees and at the edge of a village. And just as he had expected, it was decimated, the streets empty and windows all blown out. He supposed that all the bodies were still in their respective homes, but one was not. Far up the street, a twisted form lay in a pool of blood. His body chilled immediately at the sight, and he approached cautiously, afraid of the truth he already knew. When Lucius had halved the distance between himself and the body, he knew for sure it was her, and stopped short.

So now he was alone.

But then he sensed movement in the corner of his eye, and he stiffened, wishing he had a wand to draw.

"Lucius?" an amazed voice called, and he turned slowly towards it, suddenly very aware of how haggard he must look, how miserable. It was Avery, a man he had once called his friend. He raised his hands in defeat. The man approached him, consternation etched into his brow. He, Lucius noted, didn't look so great himself, although he still wore the robes of a Death Eater.

"Put your hands down," Avery commanded, and he did, surprised. "We thought…we thought you dead for more than a year now." Lucius just looked at him, stunned. Were there no repercussions for deserting? In the old days, anyone caught like this would be at least Stunned on the spot.

"I…I was…" Lucius waffled, unsure of what to tell Avery. He felt very queer, as if everything that had happened had been a long, painful dream. Then he remembered, he heard her voice in his head. _You could claim amnesia, and that you had been wandering and unaware of whom you were this whole time._ It was her idea. She would want it to be like this.

"I was hit…badly…during the last battle. Or what I think was the last battle. When I awoke I was in the woods and I barely knew myself, much less what had transpired. My memory was gone, so I just wandered in the woods. It was an…unpleasant life. But this morning I saw the Dark Mark in the sky and I remembered it all, and I came back."

Avery was quite clearly incapable of speech, and the two men just stood and stared at each other's changed faces. Finally Avery, very slowly, rolled up his sleeve and pressed his Mark. Lucius winced. He was there in an instant, and Lucius saw that He was one thing that had remained unchanged. He did not speak, and neither did Lucius. Avery told Voldemort about Lucius' supposed amnesia, and when he was done, Voldemort simply stood and regarded Lucius, who continued to stare intently at his shoes.

"Is this all true, my fair-weather friend?" He asked.

"Yes, My Lord," Lucius managed to choke out.

"Then you will return to our ranks?"

With a glance up and over his Lord's shoulder, Lucius saw her once more. She had a sad smile on her face. It was lovely, even in death. He dropped to his knees.

"Of course, My Lord."

* * *

"You were in love with the Granger girl."

"No."

"You got her pregnant."

"No."

"You would have raised a half-blood child."

"My Lord."

"Lucius, this is all true. I know it, I have seen it. Your son was a traitor, your wife was a traitor, you are a traitor. They died for their sins but I'm not going to let you die. I'm going to leave you with just enough that you will remember glimpses of it all, just enough that you will be confused about her for the rest of your life. But you will never ask me, or anyone, why you see her in your dreams, because you will be ashamed and scared."

"Please."

"Sit still, Lucius."


End file.
